


It was a dark and stormy night

by Capsiclegirl



Category: Richard Madden/Taron Egerton - Fandom, Rocketman (2019)
Genre: Cancer scare, Hospital, Lot's of Tears, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Protective Taron, Sick Fic, actually cool doctor, bystanders being assholes, character copes with fear using humor, mean richard, sad fic, stubborn Richard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:08:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21515071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capsiclegirl/pseuds/Capsiclegirl
Summary: Richard is sick. He really doesn't want Taron to worry, but worry he will.Of course, Richard goes out anyway, and when he passes out, our favorite couple has to face a new challenge in their relationship.Will they be okay? If Taron and everyone who cares about Richard has anything to do with it.
Relationships: Richard Madden/Taron Egerton
Comments: 3
Kudos: 30





	1. five second rule

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm in a very, very comforting, nurtur-y mood at the moment. Maybe its because its winter and I have started crocheting and baking and decorating everything as a way of coping with the unnatural cold in this state (Louisiana is sub tropics. We have alligators, for crying out loud). Anyway, I wanted to write a thing, and I did. Will write the second chapter later.
> 
> Maybe it's because I'm basically the mom in my group of friends. Anyone else here have that? I've got a friend who just got clean and sober and I've made him soup, so soup was on my mind. 
> 
> I can't explain why I wrote this. I just worry about our boy, is all. Our Scottish superman and king in the north. Like, who here thinks he smokes because he kinda low key doesn't like himself? 
> 
> Also, I want to shout out to Heavenisfallingaroundus and pheonis_rose (mordwen), you two are spectacular authors and I want anyone who reads this to check out your works. You're both fantastic, and it would be amazing if you could could give this one a review.
> 
> Anyway, if your triggers are cancer, please don't read.
> 
> SPOILERS: its not cancer. this is just a scare, because I could never do that to Richard. Let's just hope he doesn't do that to himself in real life.

Richard had seemed a bit feverish all day. The Scot insisted that he was fine, just needed a Tylenol and a lie down. Taron had insistently brought him the whole bottle instead of letting Ricahrd get it, plus tea and warm socks from fresh out of the dryer. 

Waking up a few hours later, Richard said that he felt fine. He was okay, well rested, never better. 

“You’re staying in tonight,” insists Taron, shaking his head at the beautiful, stubborn man as he gets dressed.

“Nah love, I’m all good. Need to get some food in me is all,” he says, putting on a leather jacket. 

“Well, bundle up more, it’s raining out,” says Taron, grabbing a thicker jacket for him and holding it up.

“Fine, my overly worried pet,” sighs Richard, rolling his eyes. He smiles and kisses Taron on the forehead as he takes the coat, and Taron uses the opportunity to feel Richard’s forehead. 

“Richard, you’re burning up!” he declares, narrowing his brows. “You can’t go out tonight.”

“I’ll take another Tylenol then. Come on, I need a bite to eat. We’ll go to that little place around the corner and get some hot soup,” says Richard, putting on the heavy coat and then popping one more pill.

Taron shakes his head, but knows that he can’t stop Richard when he has his mind set on something. So instead, he grabs his own jacket and follows Richard out into the pouring rain.

Richard almost immediately regrets stepping outside, the cold hitting him like a kick in the chest. He tries to hide the pained expression on his face, but Taron is busy holding the umbrella and trying to keep it from blowing away. He’s pulled Richard into a tight hug as they walk, and the chilly wind seems to cut less harshly because of the touch.

“Told you this was a bad idea,” says Taron, pressing a warm kiss into Richard’s cheek. He frowns at the feel, Richard covered in goosebumps and shivering, even in his warm grasp.

“We’re here, though,” says Richard, shaking Taron off, not too meanly, though. 

They step inside the cafe and grab a table, Taron taking off his jacket and putting it on Richard’s shoulders. Richard glares at him, and Taron is genuinely taken aback, sitting down across from him and looking away.

They order soup, tomato basil and chicken noodle, Richard rolling his eyes as he orders it. The message is clear, he’ll play along and let himself be taken care of. 

They eat their food in silence, an uneasy air between them. Richard is annoyed, not wanting to lash out, but intent on setting a boundary here. Taron just wants to help, but every time he tries, he gets shaken off. It feels bad, the need to reach out and care for, but being rejected each time. He knows that Richard can be defensive about his health, but this is scaring him. The irritability seems like a warning, that something else is wrong. Something deeper, and Taron can’t tell if it’s physical or mental. 

Richard starts to relax a bit, the soup warming him to the bone. He leans back, looking up apologetically at Taron.

“I’m sorry, Taron. I’ve not been kind this even’in and I know you’re trying to help,” he says. Taron looks up at him, his eyes filled to the brim with worry and sadness. “Jus’ I’m not inclined to having you fuss over me. I want to be strong for ye and its hard when I’m not.” He says this, and appears paler than before, but his earnestness calms Taron a bit.

“It’s okay, I know. I just want to make sure you’re okay,” says Taron, smiling slightly at the corners of his mouth. 

He reaches out to take Richard’s hand, and Richard grips his hand back, both of them locking eyes briefing before turning back to their food

“I’ll be fine, Taron,” says Richard, taking another spoonful of soup. “It’s just a col”- and with that he starts coughing harshly, bringing his fist to his mouth and dropping his spoon. “I’m fi-” he coughs and wheezes, his chest heaving.

“Richard!” Taron stands up, unsure what to do.

“Just swallowed some o’ the soup wro”- he keeps coughing, looking paler than ever and bringing his other hand to his chest. He beats at his chest, trying to loosen up any mucus, but this just seems to make it worse. He makes choking and sputtering sounds. 

Everyone in the cafe is looking now, some people having pulled out their phones and filming. Richard sees this, wants to tell them to sod off, but can’t catch his breath. He feels like he’s drowning, like a fish out of water. 

Everything is swimming as he continues to cough, and then Taron’s arms are around his shoulders and patting his back, and it’s only when his forehead touches Taron’s cheek does Richard realize how high his fever must be, because Taron feels freezing to him. 

He gives a sly smile at the realization, still coughing into his hand and gripping at Taron’s shirt with his other. And it’s so easy to fall unconscious. So easy to let his eyes slip shut and to let his wheezing body start to go limp, even as Taron shakes him and calls out for someone to call an ambulance. “Sorry,” he murmurs between wheezes as he lets his eyes drift closed. 

He wakes up to the sound of a heart monitor, and before Richard even opens his eyes he knows that he’s in the hospital. His sore, weak body goes stiff at the realization, and he clenches his teeth as he starts to open his eyes. 

A blurry white room slowly comes into focus, and he tries not to whimper as he becomes aware of his body. He’s lying in a bed, shirtless, heart monitors stuck to his chest. There’s an IV in his left arm, and when he reaches up with his right, he finds an oxygen mask on his face. 

It takes him a moment to become aware enough of who’s standing around him to see Taron. He starts to pull off the oxygen mask, but Taron stops him,

“No, shhh, don’t do that love,” Taron soothes, taking his hand away. 

Richard starts to tear up, looking away from Taron. Ashamed. He feels ashamed that he’s putting his love through this. He doesn’t want Taron to see him like this, weak and sickly and…  
He tries again to take off the oxygen mask, turning his face to the side. 

“Get me out of here,” he whispers, speaking a struggle.

“Can’t do that, love,” says Taron, fixing the mask back on him and not letting go of Richard’s hand this time. 

Richard presses the side of his face into the thin hospital pillow, not wanting to look Taron in the eye. 

He tries to smile, tries to show that he’s okay, but he feels so weak, and his heaving chest and shallow breaths tell him that he’s not getting out of there for a while. Fuck

“What happened?” he finally asks after a few minutes, giving up on shucking the mask.

“You fainted in the cafe. Oxygen starved,” says Taron, petting Richard’s face gently. Richard allows himself to close his eyes and sink into the feeling of Taron’s hand. He’s here and the worst is happening and there’s nothing he can do. He should just make this as easy as possible for Taron.

A doctor comes in and explains that his lungs aren’t working properly, but they can’t tell why. They had taken a chest x-ray and found them full of fluid, but didn’t know if it was pneumonia or edema as a result of... 

“..Cancer,” finishes the doctor, keeping her features as blank as possible. She’s older, mid-fifties, stern and seemingly disattached, but professional and steady. Her grey hair is bobbed short and she explains gently, clearly, pointing at the areas on the x-rays that worry her and elaborates on what they might mean.

“Richard,” murmurs Taron, and Richard lets Taron lean in and give him a light kiss, starting to tear up as the thoughts and worries course through him. 

He blinks away tears, biting his lips as he turns away from the doctor to face Taron. “I’m sorry,” he says, knowing that he can’t blame anyone but himself here. If it is cancer, he did this to both himself and Taron and to everyone else that he loves, too.

“Don’t be sorry,” says the doctor, snapping Richard out of it. “Just do better. As a doctor, it’s not my job to lecture you. That’s what school is for, informational pamphlets, or even consultation appointments. You know the risks of smoking, it’s not my job to tell you that you’re bad or to give you hell. I’m here to try and save your life, if you’ll let me.”

Richard nods, half cracking a smile. He likes this doc, she’s sharp as a whip and he appreciates her no nonsense attitude about this. He had always avoided doctors when it came to this aspect of his health, because he doesn’t like being lectured or enjoy having the same things that he already knows told to him over and over. 

He doesn’t smoke anymore, anyway, except during specific S&M scenes with Taron. And then, it’s maybe one or two. But he used to be half a pack a day, maybe a full pack a day, for about ten years. That does something bad to the lungs, and he knows it. 

The thought of being preached to about things he already knows had always kept him at a distance from seeking help when he would cough or wheeze or come down with anything. So having a doctor who just wants to focus on her job, to do what she can to fix his body, is a giant relief. It honestly makes him wish he had quit sooner, had he known there were doctors like this. 

“In order to see what exactly is producing this fluid in your lungs, we’re gonna need to take a biopsy,” says the doctor, looking at her chart and taking things down. “Are you okay with this?”

Richard faintly nods, rubbing the back of Taron’s head and nuzzling him gently. “I’ll be okay, it’s alright,” he murmurs, trying to calm his nervous boyfriend.

“You’re gonna take out a piece of his lung?” asks Taron, agasp at the prospect.

“Just a tiny piece, a small sample of cells. He won’t feel it, he’ll be under anesthesia,” says the doctor, handing Richard the paperwork to sign. 

Richard promptly signs it, decidedly going to get this done because pretending nothing is wrong won’t help him. At least he can get a diagnosis and figure out what to do next if he goes through with this.

“So, like surgery?” asks Taron, closing his eyes in worry.

“I’ll be fine, love. Won’t even hardly be a scar,” says Richard, moving the oxygen mask aside and kissing Taron’s forehead, nobody stopping him this time.

“We’ll know in just a few hours what’s going on and we can get a treatment plan in action immediately if its cancerous,” says the doctor, taking back the clipboard and nodding. 

She shakes hands with Richard, and then Taron. The Welshmen fixes his features and won’t look at her, despite the sly grin she gives to him. She heads to go prepare and a nurse and orderly come in to prep Richard for surgery, and he smiles, giving the doc a wink before she leaves the room.

“I like her,” Richard says, Taron rolling his eyes at him, and he laughs for the first time that evening.

The heart monitors come off, and Richard lets himself be undressed and put on a gurney. Taron stays with him the whole time, talking to him and holding Richard’s hand. 

“I’m gonna be here when you wake up, not gonna leave you alone,” he reassures him, Richard shaking his head at him.

“Not as scared as you were that time, love. I know you’re not gonna leave me. After all, i stayed that time despite the self infliction, so i know that you'll do the same for me,” says Richard, reminding Taron of the dildo incident.

“Not funny,” says Taron, kissing Richard gently on the forehead before the orderly wheels him into the operating room.

Richard lets himself be moved onto the operating table, trying to suppress a cough and almost rolling off onto the floor. 

“Whoa there, just lay back. We might need to strap you down,” says the doctor, coming into the room in full surgical garb, her hands held out in front of her in order to keep them sterile. 

Tyrannosaurus mode, thinks Richard, slapping himself mentally for the millennial humor. 

“Don’t want you falling onto the floor,” she says, nodding to the anesthesiologist, who replaces the oxygen mask with the one for anesthesia and whispers in Richard's ear for him to count down. 

Richard turns his face to the side, briefly escaping the gas and saying, “don’t worry, five second rule,” making everyone in the OR burst out laughing as he allows himself to be put to sleep.


	2. Little Dick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taron takes care of Richard while he's recovering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that I abandoned this for a while, and I just want to apologize. I've been a mess, and hadn't been up to writing for quite some time. Basically, I have to repeat one class, which is a lab, actually. It's funny, I joked self-deprecatingly about not paying attention in class, but it was the one I thought I was fine in that I have to repeat.
> 
> Anyway, I've been numb and sad, and my girlfriend is now back in California, and I have to live with the fact that I can't fix her depressy-brain either. Honestly, I'm glad we're poly because her other partners are better at helping her emotionally, while even on my worst days I can cook and clean and basically take care of the organism. This is a slight improvement from when I was living with my abusive parents. 
> 
> I just feel trapped, and was doing my usually scheduled wall starring between job applications and school, when I got a comment from TJ. 
> 
> @TJ, thank you for checking in on me. It really did help me to wake up and get back on track. 
> 
> @heavensfallingaroundus, wanted to ask if this is an okay use of the Little Dick nickname. I know that you included it in Three, but since this is a completely different situation, and Little Dick himself jokes about it in real life, I hope its okay. I just didn't want to copy too close to your writing again. Let me know if I should change anything
> 
> Anyway, hope y'all enjoy this. I wasn't sure where to go with it because it kinda writes itself, but I figured I'd just enjoy some sappy boys in love and some sweet sick fic.
> 
> Anyway, thank you to everyone.

Taron looks up from where he was ringing his hands together. Whenever the waiting room door would open, he would look up expectantly. His heart would race as the nurse would look at her chart, until she called a different name than the one he was waiting for. 

It felt like an eternity, when in reality it had been an hour, maybe an hour and thirty minutes. The time dragged on as Taron waited, and let every possible, terrible scenario take their turn in tormenting him.

When the nurse finally calls ‘Madden’ Taron doesn’t even bother to look up, it taking him a moment to realize that that meant Richard. However, he suddenly realizes who they mean and he jumps up, racing up to the nurse, who seems startled at his abrupt approach.

“What’s the news on him?” he asks, trying to catch his breath and also not panic. 

The nurse appears startled by Taron’s anxious expression, but looks at the chart and gestures for Taron to follow her.

“Richard has bacterial pneumonia,” says the nurse, shutting the door behind her and leading Taron down the hall into post op. “We’re installing a drain to let the edama drain out, and he’s on the strongest antibiotics we have. Still, he’ll probably be here in the hospital for at least a week.”

“So its not cancer?” asks Taron, a look of intensive relief taking over his face.

“No, not cancer,” says the nurse, stopping before a door and opens the door. “He’s still asleep, but he’ll be awake soon.” The nurse then hands Taron some paper and leaves him, and so he enters the room and sits down next to Richard

Richard… does not look pretty. For the first time since Taron has known him, he wants to look away. 

He’s got a tube down his throat, and is hooked up to heart monitors again. His skin seems tallow, and coming out from his side is a thin, clear tube. A strange, dark fluid drips down through it, and Taron can’t help but think that they need to do more, that Richard is drowning in his own body and they need to get that stuff out of him.

But instead, he just sits down in the chair next to the bed, and gently takes Richard’s hand in his. God, he prays that Richard doesn’t wake up like this. He feels so weak, because he just can’t face this. But face it he still does, sitting with Richard and quietly murmuring sweet nothings to him while the heart monitors beep and each strained breath causes Richard’s chest to rise and fall. 

After a time, the doctor comes in again and has a nurse de-intubate Richard, letting Taron stay despite the usual protocol.  
“He’s not hurting anyone, and frankly, it’s bad for both of them to be alone right now,” says the doctor, putting her hands on her hips and observing the nurse and orderly as they place an oxygen mask over Richard’s face.

Taron doesn’t say anything, thinking that he wouldn’t leave if they tried to force him, and the doctor takes Richard’s vitals again. 

“He’ll make it, he’s a fighter,” says the doctor, taking her notes and giving Taron a wink.

“Do you think so?” asks Taron, worriedly, unable to remove his eyes from the sickly, pallid face.

“Definitely. He’s on the strongest antibiotics we have, and we’re getting rid of the fluid. All he needs now is you to care for him,” she says, earnestly. Taron nods, unsure, but trying to be hopeful.

Eventually Richard starts to stir, and his eyes flutter open and closed repeatedly. He doesn’t try to speak, though, still too groggy from the anesthesia. Taron simply sits with him, holding his hand and murmuring reassuringly. Around eleven, a nurse comes in and gives him something to help him sleep, and Richard just watches with mostly lidded eyes as she adds the medicine to his IV drip

Taron stays with Richard all night.

He wakes up to the feeling his hair being played with, and Taron opens his eyes to find Richard reaching out to him from his hospital bed. He had fallen asleep in the large reclining chair in the room, still in his jeans and having drooled all over his own shirt sleeve. 

Richard is grinning at him from under his oxygen mask, running his right hand through the hair of Taron’s widow’s peak.

“Richard?” he asks, sitting up and wiping off the side of his mouth. He stands up and moves closer to him, cradling his hand close to his face.

“What…?” Richard tries, having trouble getting his breath, and Taron shakes his head no. “Don’t speak, just rest.”

Taron is answered with a smirk, Richard challenging him jokingly. Eventually, he starts to get his bearings and tries to shift the blankets back.

“Trying to see?” asks the doctor, coming in and pulling back the blanket. 

Richard nods, lying back so that the doctor can pull down the blankets and his hospital gown.

“So here’s where we took the biopsy from the right lung,” says the doctor, pointing at a bandaged area just above his pectoral, where a little bit of dried blood stained into the white cotton. “And here’s where we installed a drain, to get rid of the fluid in your lungs.”

Richard raises an eyebrow in a mock horrified expression, inciting a chuckle from the doctor.

“Huh, they told me you were good at acting non-verbally. Guess they were right” says the doc, pressing down her stethoscope and checking Richard’s heart beat. She notes it down on his chart and gives him a smile. “I don’t know if your little friend here has told you, but its not cancer, but bacterial pneumonia. Pretty bad, but you’ll survive.”

Richard wheezes a laugh and pets Taron’s hair, Taron himself looking on in mock outrage.

“But seriously, you’ll be fine. We are going to keep you for a while on strong antibiotics, and we’re getting rid of that edema, or fluid build up, as ye non-medicals call it. Now, keep resting your voice and take it easy. Also, convince your pet to go home and take a shower,” and with that she jokingly waves a hand in front of her face as if to waft away the smell.

Richard nods again and she leaves, shooting Richard another wink.

“What?” asks Taron, looking at Richard, raising a brow. Richard just smiles and pretends to pinch his nose over his oxygen mask, and Taron rolls his eyes. 

“Look, I called you mum. She’ll be here in a few hours. I’ll run home and shower and change clothes then, okay?”

Richard just rolls his eyes, trying to sigh but realizing that he can’t quite catch his breath. He coughs instead.

A few hours later, and Taron is back at the hospital, Richard’s mother hovering around him in a way that is just short of smothering.

“Oh, if only big dick could see you now you would get such a talking to,” his mother sighs, dabbing away at Richard’s forehead and fluffing his pillow again.

Richard seems to be trying to tune out what his mother is saying, and Taron chuckles at the sight. 

“You know he’s quit smoking, right?” he asks, pleased with himself as he enters the room with a bag of clean clothes and some groceries.

“Oh has he now?” asks Pat, incredulous.

Eventually, Richard ends the lecture by pretending to be asleep, which fools his mother enough that she finally gets up to leave.

“I’ll be staying at your place, coming in during the day to take care of my boy,” she says, ruffling Richard’s hair in the way that she knows he hates, but he doesn’t open his eyes.

Taron grins at Richard when the door closes behind her, a naughty look on his face.

“She’s a piece of work, eh, little dick.”

Richard scrunches up his face and nods, almost on the edge of tears.

“It’s okay, Richard. She’s just worried, and isn’t mad at you. Honestly, she loves you so much, just like I do.” Taron then takes Richard’s hand in his and kisses his knuckles, one by one.

The next day, Richard tries talking, but the effort is exhausting. The doctor has them re-insert the drain and a flood of fluid comes pouring out, around a quarter litter, and suddenly Richard looks much less blue and feels able to breathe easier.

Pat and Taron sat by Richard, holding his hand as his doctor insisted on fixing the tube herself. 

“Almost done, love. Just need to get it down the left bronchiole to allow fluid out from that side,” she says, her gloved hands making feeding the tubing in deftly.

Richard winces at the feeling. It’s like a snake poking around in his chest, but the relief from draining the fluid is immense. 

“Thank you,” he manages, coughing into his oxygen mask and falling back onto the bed.

By the third day, he was trying to eat a little, his mom spoon feeding him some broth.

“There now, little dick. Tuck into some of this healthy broth.” Taron is holding Richard’s oxygen mask, trying to keep it on him enough to help him breath, but having to move it a little for each spoonful.

“I also brought you some probiotics, since what’s in yer gut now is probably experiencing the apocalypse what with what yer on.”

Richard just smiles and takes another spoonful of broth, swallowing carefully. When she’s not scolding him, he loves having his mother there. Taron as well, who honestly hasn’t left his side for the past three days. 

Taron is disheveled looking, bags under his eyes, and a medical mask on his face to keep away the bacteria. 

“Also brought you some extra blankets. I know that you still have a bit of a fever, but when that breaks you’ll realize just how darn cold this damn ‘ospital is.”

Taron almost balls over laughing, and he knows that they’re gonna be okay.

Richard’s mother had to catch her flight home the next day, and he allowed her to fuss more than usual and didn’t even complain when she called him by her favorite nickname for him.

“Not an accurate description anymore…” muttered Taron, trying to muffle his words and his laughter while Pat hovered like a mother duck. 

“Now you take care of ‘im, or else I’ll come right back here and do everything myself,” she tuts, Taron finally managing to convince her to catch her flight.

They both sigh in relief and then laugh, grateful for the help Pat offered, but glad to have just each other again.

It was several more days before Richard was allowed to go home, with a bag full of different meds and a textbook full of instructions. Taron listened carefully, asking dozens of questions and insisting on pushing Richard in the wheelchair himself. 

“I’m fine, Taron. Besides, what with signing me soul over to Disney, I’m not legally allowed to die. It’s in the contract.” 

Taron gives him a playful swat before helping him into the care and then getting in himself. Richard’s doctor steps out to see them off, and Taron actually gives her a smile.

“Just do as the instructions say. I know men hate reading instructions, so I put the antidote in there but won’t tell you where.”

“Harhar, thanks for everything,” says Richard, giving her a wink, which she returns, and then the car pulls out.

“I’m the one with the ‘killer wink,” pouts Taron, to which Richard just nods and shakes his head.

Once home, Taron sets Richard up on their shared bed with pizza and a movie. It’s cozy and familiar, unlike the hospital. Eventually, they mute the movie and just cuddle up together, embracing each other and not wanting to let go. It’s intense, more so than their most passionate lovemaking. Just holding each close, an embrace saying all the things left unsaid in the past week. Just how scared they both are, how sorry. They breathe each other in, hold tight and allowing themselves to just get lost in the other’s eyes. 

“I love you,” whispers Richard, cupping Taron’s face and kissing him gently. “I love you, and when I’m up for it again, your ass is gonna get it.”

Taron smiles against Richard’s soft lips. “Can’t wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all enjoyed! Please comment and tell me what you think? I'm gonna try and post again, and if you like my writing, I'm starting to branch into different genres, so keep an eye open for them, too.
> 
> Thank you!

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment. I love sick fics but they're hard to write. I kinda rely way to much on passing out, here. Honestly, didn't know what else to do. 
> 
> Also, decided to have the doctor be low key doesn't give a fuck, just does her job, which is fixing people. Like my grandfather. He's catholic, but unlike a lot of pro-life doctors out there, he doesn't lie to women about side effects of abortion or convince them that they're not pregnant until its too late. We need more doctors who are straight forward and who keep their opinions out of medicine.
> 
> Anyway, am going to barricade myself in my room and bake cookies and deal with seasonal effective disorder by studying, watching Parks and Rec, and burying myself in a pile of fresh laundry warm from the dryer.
> 
> Can't wait to hear what y'all think! And a happy Thanksgiving to everyone! My family eats Latin american food, traditional thanksgiving fair, Cajun food, and middle eastern dishes on thanksgiving because we're a bit of everything. 
> 
> What do y'all eat for thanksgiving? What about your non-Americans? Sorry, kinda isolated at the moment. Trying to graduate. 
> 
> anyway, enjoy!


End file.
